Q & A
by Medie
Summary: The Manor burns, there's a break out at Arkham, and terrorists let loose some kind of toxin in the Narrows, but we're supposed to believe the fire's just an accident?"


**title:** Q & A  
**author:** medie  
**rating:** PG-13  
**word count:** 2986  
**pairing:** Bruce/Vicki UST  
**note:** This was officially a stocking stuffer for **sinquepida**, but really it bit me as a plot bunny and wouldn't let go. I don't even know exactly _why_ as I've never been a huge Vicki Vale fan, but I think I may be now. Thanks **havocthecat** for the hand-holding and proof-reading. For those wondering? I have decided that Ali Larter would be the perfect Vicki Vale (Let's see the Joker scare _her_ off).  
**summary:** "The Manor burns, there's a break out at Arkham, and terrorists let loose some kind of toxin in the Narrows, but we're supposed to believe the fire's just an accident?"

-

**Q & A**

**-**

"Hey Vick, you got a minute?"

"No," Vicki says in a muttered voice. She gives the door a longing look, and then sighs, reluctantly bidding visions of a hot bath and a trashy romance novel a fond farewell. So close.

She turns, dropping her bag onto her chair. "Yes, Grant, I've got a minute," she says. "What is it?"

The Gotham Gazette's editor gives her a smile. He's practically still wet behind the ears, but they've all learned to recognize that smile. Vicki winces. Uh oh. "Great job on the Wayne retrospective," he says. "I hear circulation's gone up."

She lets him usher her into his office, amused by the comment. "Grant, a monkey could have written that story and the same thing would have happened. The Wayne family sells papers, especially if the names Thomas and Martha happen to get a mention. People like remembering how things used to be when they were still alive." Vicki smiles, softly admitting, "I used to pretend I was Martha. She seemed so glamorous."

"Right, didn't you know her or something?" Grant asks, doing a terrible job of acting casual as he sits down.

"Socially," Vicki says. "Through her charity work." It's a vague answer meant to sidestep the question, but specific enough he won't question it. Not that she gives him a chance to try. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Grant toys with a letter opener, then sneaks a grin at her. "Ever run into her son?"

Aha. Vicki folds her arms. "I already wrote the required 'Crown Prince Returns' story, that one made circulation go up too." She gives him a look. "_Grant_."

He holds up his hands. "I'm not asking you to fuck the guy for a story." He smirks. "Though, from what I hear that might work."

"GRANT!" she barks.

"Sorry," he says. "There is something going on with Wayne, Vicki, and I want to know what. You said it yourself, the guy falls off the planet for almost a decade, gets declared dead, and then shows up with a story of whoring his way through Europe? Something stinks, Vick."

She nods. "I know, I've been doing a little digging."

Grant perks up. "And?"

"And if he was in Europe, then he was invisible." Vicki says. "No evidence of him paying to stay anywhere and no signs of him in the usual hotspots." She shrugs. "He could've been traveling incognito, but it doesn't make much sense."

"But?"

"But, on the other hand, after what happened to him, it's no surprise Bruce Wayne would be a little -- eccentric."

"Running away from home is one thing," Grant says, turning on the television he keeps in his office. "Burning it down is another."

Vicki turns to look. "Oh my god," she says. Behind Summer Gleason, GNN's latest hire, Wayne Manor is engulfed in flames.

"Still think there's nothing there?" Grant asks, smug.

Vicki doesn't answer him. She stands silent, watching the manor burn.

-

She walks onto the estate. To be accurate, she sneaks onto the estate. It's not her first arson investigation, it's a popular way to get rid of old real estate in Gotham City, but she's not prepared for the wreckage. Stately Wayne Manor is a charred pile of smoking ruins.

Standing amid the lush greenery of the gardens, Vicki is stricken. She feels a lump in her throat and tears threaten. It isn't supposed to affect her like this, she's a professional, but she feels the wrench of pain anyway.

"Beg pardon, Miss," someone says, "but you really shouldn't be here."

Vicki bites her lip, fingering the press pass in her pocket, as she composes herself. "I know," she says, deciding to leave it where it is. "I'm sorry to intrude but -- " she pulls her gaze away from the carnage. The man standing behind her she recognizes as the butler. Alfred Pennyworth.

"Of course," she says, "Mr. Pennyworth."

He nods. "And you?"

"Victoria Vale," she says.

"Ah, yes, the Gazette," Alfred nods. "Lovely bit you did on the family."

She smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot. That's actually part of why I'm here." Turning back to look at the ruins, Vicki shakes her head. "I feel like I should pay my respects."

"We intend to rebuild, of course," Alfred says. "There is a far amount which is salvageable."

"I find that hard to believe," Vicki says although she wishes. Thinking of everything this house has meant to her, she wishes. "I can't believe anyone would do this." It's a hard thing to say, living in Gotham City, but she does. As bad as Gotham's gotten, there's always been something about the Wayne family. "It's like losing them all over again."

Alfred clears his throat. "Yes, well, Master Wayne -- "

"Please," Vicki cuts him off sharper than she intended. Blushing, she holds up a hand. "I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Pennyworth, but spare me the spin. That story may work on Summer Gleason, but I'm not her. You're going to need to work on it a little. Whatever is going on with your employer, there's no way in hell he burned this house down."

"He was drunk, miss," Alfred says.

Vicki raises an eyebrow. "There's not enough alcohol on the East Coast to get him _that_ drunk."

Something flickers in Alfred's gaze. Approval? "What makes you say that?" he asks.

Vicki remembers Martha Wayne's tender smile and the touch of a hand to her brow. "It's all he had left of them," she says.

Again that look in Alfred's eyes. She wonders about it, but he turns away. "Fair enough," he says. "So, if you don't believe Master Wayne did it, then who would you suggest?"

Vicki grins. "The home of Gotham's most prominent family burns flat the same night the Narrows goes nuts? Gee, let me think." She looks at the house, suddenly angry on its behalf. "The question isn't who. The question is why is your boss taking the blame for it?"

-

"C'mon, Renee," Vicki wheedles. "You have to know _something_."

Renee Montoya looks into her coffee cup. "Vicki, you know I can't tell you anything."

"Sure you can," Vicki says easily. "Same way I slip you tips all the time." She nudges her friend beneath the table. "Quid pro quo, Renee. I promise I'm not after a hatchet job. Unlike the hacks in this town, I don't think Wayne did it."

Renee grins. "You don't believe it either?"

"God no," Vicki sits back, picking at her crueller. "I'm shocked anyone else does."

"They want to believe it," Renee says. "There isn't going to be much. Mr. Wayne's lawyers shut down the investigation pretty quickly, but I'll check with the guys in Arson and let you know."

"I appreciate it," Vicki says. "Thanks, Renee, you're a saint."

-

"You look like the cat contemplating a particularly tasty canary," Grant says.

"Not the cat that _ate_ the canary?" Vicki asks, leaning back in her chair and twirling a pen.

She grins at him and he grins back. "You haven't chowed down yet," Grant says. "What'd you find?"

"Maybe something, maybe nothing." Vicki points the pen at her laptop screen. "Billionaire Burns Down Home may make a great headline, but the pieces don't fit." Not much does when you look close enough at Bruce Wayne. "The Manor burns, there's a break out at Arkham, and terrorists let loose some kind of toxin in the Narrows, but we're supposed to believe the fire's just an accident?"

She shakes her head. "Here's the fun thing. When the smoke in the Narrows cleared? Gotham PD recovered a device. Some kind of atomizer that turned out to belong to Wayne Enterprises. Within a day of that discovery, Bruce Wayne retakes control of the company, ousts the CEO, and puts Lucius Fox back at the top."

Grant raises his eyebrows. "Huh." He looks at her. "Any word on how terrorists got a piece of Wayne Enterprises tech?"

"Not yet," Vicki says. "I've got sources working on it."

"Keep at it," Grant says.

-

"Oh my god!" Mona Seavers, the Gazette's answer to Dolly Parton, rushes up to Vicki's desk. Closing Vicki's laptop with a snap, she leans over. The wash of perfume and stale cigarette smoke burns Vicki's eyes. "You are _not_ going to believe who's in reception and looking for _you_ of all people."

Vicki pushes her chair backward. "I won't?" she asks, blinking her eyes to clear the tears.

"Nah uh," Mona says, and cracks her gum. She's trying to quit again. Out of breath from the dash upstairs, she keeps on chewing like a trooper. "_Bruce Wayne_." She clasps her hands together and Vicki thinks if Mona bats her eyelashes, then she won't be responsible for her actions.

"I'm floored," she says, voice dry. "I can't imagine what he would want with me."

Mona smirks, looking her up and down. "Me either, honey, me either." She snaps her gum and walks off.

Vicki sits straighter and tosses a look over shoulder. "You hear that?" she asks Grant.

He grins, nodding. "Go on, can't keep the crown prince of Gotham waiting, now can you?"

She smirks, jumping up. "True."

"Hey Vick?"

Vicki looks back. "Yeah?"

"Play nice with him," Grant says. "We don't need to make any enemies until we have to."

"Baby," she says. "Don't worry. I won't hurt him." She waits a beat and then adds, "Much."

-

Being this is the Gazette, the elevator is out. Again. The upside this time is that she gets a look at Bruce before he sees her. "God," she says.

Dressed in a pinstripe suit, he looks every inch the billionaire he's supposed to be. It's hard to imagine this Bruce Wayne as a drunken wastrel who could burn down his own home.

As if sensing her scrutiny, he turns and looks up. For a moment there's an intensity in his eyes that's almost scary, but it vanishes as he smiles.

"Vicki Vale?" he asks.

She covers the last few steps and nods. "Bruce Wayne."

He smiles wider. It's surprisingly hard to think straight. She brings herself up with the sharp reminder that she is _not_ that woman. "You aren't what I was expecting."

"I rarely am," she says. "You wanted to see me?"

"You trespassed on my home yesterday," he says.

"Part of the job, I'm afraid. I needed to see the aftermath for myself," she sucks in a breath, trying to quell a sudden fit of the nerves. "I'm sure Mr. Pennyworth told you everything about our conversation?"

"He did," Bruce nods. "You don't think I did it."

"Nope," she looks at him, a small smile playing about her lips. "And you're here to assure me you really did."

"And it's not going to work," he says, grinning back. If her heart beats a little faster at that grin, Vicki ignores it. "You'll make a pithy comment, I'll invite you to dinner -- "

"At which point I say I'm not that kind of reporter," she says. "Also, I'll possibly denigrate television news, paparazzi, and the fall of Western civilization. It's one of my better comments, actually."

"Oh, I'm sure." He stops, putting his hands into his pockets. "I am responsible, you know." He sighs. "It isn't one of my finer moments, but most of the last decade falls under that label."

Vicki doesn't miss his choice of words. It's careful and the kind of tap-dancing she knows well. "Right, when you went off to Europe and managed to squander exactly zero dollars of the family fortune on wine, women, and song." She folds her arms. "You're a tricky man to figure out, Bruce Wayne."

He looks at her. His grin fades. "How's that?" he asks. She has the sense she's being judged. Like the conversation with Alfred, she sees something in his gaze that she can't quite name.

"I don't know yet," she says, "but I will. You didn't burn down your house, Mr. Wayne. Any idiot with a functioning brain can tell that for themselves. You're covering for someone." She catches the flicker of disgust in his gaze and pounces. "Not someone you like much, either. Blackmail, maybe?"

"And we were having such a good time," Bruce sighs. "Promise you won't do this when we have dinner?"

"I didn't say yes," she says, but suspects she will. This isn't a man one can resist long.

"Irrelevant," Bruce says. He reaches out for her hand and Vicki shivers. His gaze locks with hers and she feels like a cornered mouse. To think that Grant was worried about Bruce. "Are you free tonight?"

She swallows. "What happened to you?"

He frowns. "That's not an answer."

"No, but it's what I should say," she says. "When you disappeared -- you didn't run off to Europe. _No one_ saw you, there are no records, there's nothing. Wherever you went -- "

"Eight o'clock," he says, cutting her off. "Don't worry about clothes," he smiles. "I'll take care of that."

Vicki watches him leave, whistling.

"That did not go as planned," she says. "At least, not for me it didn't." She has a feeling that, for his part, Bruce is pretty damn pleased with himself.

-

Bruce said eight. The dress shows up at seven. It's red, expensive, and not slutty. When she opens the box, Vicki's surprised by that. When she puts on the dress, twirling to watch the tail flare around her, she can't stop the smile.

"Nice," a dark voice rasps.

She jumps as one shadow separates from the rest. Batman's standing in her bedroom. The realization brings with it a hysterical urge to giggle. The fucking Dark Knight is standing in her bedroom. That stops her and she scowls at him. "Don't you knock?"

It's not the reaction he's expecting and he actually looks perplexed. "Not as a habit," he says. "I needed to speak with you, Ms. Vale."

Vicki folds her arms, hugging her chest. "I have a phone."

His mouth forms a smirk. "I don't."

"Of course you don't," she says. "You tie mobsters to flood lights and make shadow puppets on the clouds." She takes a step backward. "What is it that I can do for you?"

"Leave Bruce Wayne and the fire alone," Batman says. "It's best if you do. Safer." He takes a step closer. "For you as much as him."

She smiles. "Sweet, but not really. I'm a reporter in Gotham City, safety isn't in my job description." She sits down, crossing her legs and looks at him expectantly. "If you want me to drop this story, Batman, you're going to have to work harder."

He crosses the room, looking down at her. She looks back, not sure whether to be terrified or flattered by the look in his eyes. "I'm telling you all that I can."

"No, you've told me all that you want to," she says. "You're afraid I'll publish it and you're right. I will publish it if it's worth publishing." She brushes the silky skirt over her legs, pleased when his eye follows the action. The great Batman is human after all. "Give me a reason not to publish it and maybe I won't. As of right now, it's a great story that has all the hallmarks. A tragic figure, mysterious bad guys, and an equally mysterious hero dropping himself right in the middle of it." She thinks about adding a debt that can never be repaid, but decides against it. Martha Wayne didn't do anything for Vicki that she didn't do for a thousand other foster kids.

Still...she did it. This is the least Vicki can do for her. She lifts her chin to meet Batman's gaze. "You've got to admit that a story like that is magic."

He frowns. "You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"

Vicki shrugs. "Force of habit. In Gotham City, there aren't many people who are."

Batman surprises her with a small smile. "True," he says. He looks at her. "Mr. Wayne didn't burn down his house, but he knows who did."

The admission is no surprise. "And that person is someone he has history with," she says. "From when he was overseas."

Batman nods. "The man who stole the device used in the Narrows."

"And if I publish -- "

"It will be problematic."

"Mm, especially for your working arrangement," Vicki says. His gaze sharpens and she smiles blithely. "I did a piece on Lucius Fox a couple years ago. It wasn't much, but I got to tour some of his projects. Does the Tumbler handle as well as he says?"

"It's rough on corners," Batman admits.

She nods. "I thought so." Standing, she meets his gaze and smiles. "All right, I'll back off. I'm not dropping the story, but I will do some creative editing. I'd hate to bust up a perfectly good team."

He nods and turns.

"Next time you drop by, try knocking," Vicki says.

"What makes you think there will be one?" he asks, without looking back.

She laughs. "Reporter's intuition."

-

When she slides into the limo, Bruce gives her a grin. "You look wonderful."

"Thank you," she says. She crosses her legs and brushes the skirt into place. Bruce's gaze lingers on her legs and she smiles. Apparently Batman and Bruce have something in common. "I met a friend of yours tonight."

"Did you?" he asks, perfectly innocent.

"Mmhmm," she nods. "Word to the wise, Mr. Wayne. When big scary men in batsuits try to intimidate reporters, it generally has the opposite effect."

"Really," he says.

"Really," she agrees, "but it was a nice try."

He looks at her. "You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"

Vicki takes a breath, looking at him with new eyes. "Force of habit," she says. "You'll get used to it."

He grins. "God, I hope not."


End file.
